A Boy And His Rifle
by SilasWhitfield
Summary: Silas Whitfield left Earth to find something more for himself, a place far removed from his tired world and dead end job. But when Dr. Augustine approaches with the opportunity to be something more than just a scout sniper, his life is changed forever.
1. A Forest of Green

(A/N: Hey everybody, writing another short fic here. **Bold text is Na'vi language. **Please **review after reading**, as feedback is my primary motivation for posting updates. God, not even one chapter in and I'm resorting to threats and bribery... What a debauched world we live in.)

Silas was jolted roughly against the wall of the armored personnel carrier as it hit some unknown obstacle in the road and continued on. The troop bay was stiflingly hot, as their air conditioning unit had run out of Freon some miles back. Silas reflected bitterly on the fact that the avatar team they were meeting probably rode a helicopter in over the impressive scenery. There was no scenery in here, due to the fact that it was almost pitch dark.

The gunner ducked down from his hatch and shouted over the roar of the engine.

"Thirty seconds boys!"

Every man in the hold checked his weapons one more time, even though they were already pristine and ready to go. Better safe than sorry was an idiom well suited to the unforgiving environment on Pandora. Silas ran a finger along the seal of his exopack to make sure there were no leaks.

The armored vehicle's motor ground into a lower gear and stopped, idling.

"Go go go, down the ramp!"

* * *

Grace Augustine folded her arms and let out a long, low sigh.

Grunts.

She had no real idea why Quaritch always insisted on sending along an entire army to shadow her, but she knew that the protection reason was probably bullshit. No, strike that, she KNEW it was bullshit. Her assistant for the day, a tall, quiet man named Jacob, was perfectly able to defend himself. The avatars they were driving were almost ten feet tall and could crush a soda can with thumb and forefinger for christ's sakes!

But still, as the grim faced soldiers pounded down the ramp and trampled all over the local flora, Grace couldn't help but smile. Jacob noticed this and cocked an eyebrow.

"Something funny?"

"I'm practically old enough to be their mother. All of them."

Jacob shrugged and began walking out of the shade of the trees to greet the men.

* * *

Silas was left temporarily in charge of his own fire team, assigned to cover Dr. Augustine while she interacted with the locals. At least, that's what had been written on the whiteboard back at Hell's Gate. The actual tone of the mission was much less serious.

Silas's squad leader was back with his half of the squad lounging in the shade of their armored vehicle. He had put Silas in charge not because he was a particularly good leader, but because he was easy to get along with.

The four men plus Silas himself sat in Grace's shadow. Even seated, her avatar was almost as tall as them. The Na'vi children seemed to adore her, and none of them broke eye contact as she taught them some simple words in English.

Across the clearing, past the small crowd of people washing and preparing food, were a group of young males. White face paint had been traced on them in ornate spirals and they were staring at the soldiers in haughty disapproval. When he looked over to his left, he found that the squad light machine gunner, Garza, was staring back.

"Look at that! Bunch of illiterate cave things thinking they're all hard and shit." He muttered to no one in particular.

Silas set his sniper rifle on his lap and watched the warriors with a look of contemplation.

"What do you say Garza, you think you could make the shot from here? Right into his temple?"

The short Hispanic man laughed

"Yeah, I'd take the one on the left, and then you'd pop the other two. Easy money."

Silas unscrewed the cap on his canteen and took a sip.

"Yeah, I wish. Haven't gotten to shot one of the blue boys yet."

"Well, if anyone's going to get to, it'll be you." Garza said.

Silas didn't know whether to be flattered or frightened by the comment, so he remained quiet. It was a true statement, nonetheless. A scout sniper was the eyes, ears, and if need be, executioner of the squad leader. He still hadn't figured out exactly how he felt about the blue skinned natives.

**

* * *

**

Much to the dismay of Security Operations platoon Winchester 2C, the news made its way through the barracks that they had been assigned to guard duty with the AVTR program again, this time permanently. Silas pretended to gripe along with the others, but secretly he enjoyed the long hikes into the wild. The base was a long boring stretch of concrete where men played basketball in sweltering sun and got into fights over card games.

That same day they were loaded into helicopters and dropped almost a hundred miles into the ocean of forest. Now their security detail of ten men was hiking along behind Dr. Augustine, Silas at the head, and Augustine and her assistant just behind him in avatar form.

They wound their way over streams and down embankments in a steady line southwards until they found the village. It was masterfully camouflaged, the dwellings almost a part of the trees that surrounded them, completely invisible from the air. A shout went up and several armed natives dropped to the ground next to them. The soldiers stiffened, but Augustine walked forward and greeted one of them warmly.

They began conversing in the native language, and gradually drifted away from the squad.

"Do you think we should follow her?" Silas asked, to no one in particular.

The sergeant snorted derisively

"She obviously doesn't need any help from us."

The soldiers dispersed and sat down in their own respective groups, while the team leader kept an eye on Augustine. Silas sat down next to Willis, a thin, wiry kid who he had met back in boot camp on earth.

"This blows." Willis intoned emotionlessly

Silas shrugged.

"Could be worse. Did you hear about those guys in B Company?"

"Yeah, well at least they got to fight, least they got to shoot their damn weapons."

"The whole section got annihilated! Every last man, gored through with an arrow the size of a broomstick."

"Almost makes you wonder why they bother to poison them..." Willis chuckled

Silas shook his head.

"I don't know about you, but that's not the kind of war I signed up to fight."

"Oh really? So tell me, oh great and mighty warrior, what kind of war DID you sign up to fight?"

Silas opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had to admit, he didn't have a good answer to that question. Willis didn't seem to notice the pause, he was too busy looking over at Augustine, who now seemed to be in heated discussion with a warrior. She pointed east, towards the open plains, and then threw up her hands, both of them talking in escalating tones. The sergeant had picked up on it too and motioned the men to form up.

"On me everybody, lets go and find out what the hell is going on."

Silas was right behind the sergeant, his jungle camouflage patrol cap perched precariously on his bald head. The squad leader marched up to the arguing pair.

"What's this guys problem doctor?"

Augustine whipped around and rounded on the squad leader.

"Sergeant First Class Anderson, if I want your fucking opinion I will ask for it!"

Not to be outdone, Anderson raised his voice as well.

"Oh really? Do you know why I was assigned to you?"

"Because Quaritch likes to make my life that much harder." Augustine spat.

"It is because" Sgt. Anderson continued in a even louder voice "we are assigned to protect you! And when you're arguing with a ten foot tall blue _thing_ that happens to be able to spear you like an olive, then you had better want my opinion!"

Silas never knew what caused him to speak up, but he did.

"Ah, sir, I don't think the native was necessarily arguing, sir."

There was a dead silence and all eyes fell on him. He fervently wished that he could just sink down into the ground and have someone slid a cover on right about now, but since that wasn't going to happen, he continued.

"Uh, sir, I think you're taking this the wrong way, they were just talking."

Everybody present paused, digesting this information. Everybody, that is, except for Dr. Augustine, who was looking at him with interest.

"Yes, actually, that's exactly what was going on. Thank you Private." She murmured.

With the situation defused, the sergeant seemed at a loss for words. He rolled his eyes, shook his head exasperatedly, and stalked off, the rest of the squad following him.

**

* * *

**

"Your move Chester."

Silas slid the black knight smoothly across the board and let go of it. Immediately, his opponent whisked his own queen from an unseen corner and knocked the piece off. Silas cursed under his breath. Chester was an engineer from the repair depot with a shock of red hair, and brain with a startling aptitude for chess, whereas Silas had only ever been so-so at the game. Chester checked his watch and stood up from the bucket he had been using as a stool.

"I gotta get back to the shop Silas, if the boss catches me on break when I'm not supposed to..."

"What, he'll spank you?"

Chester shivered

"A thousand times worse. He'll put me on oil cleanup detail. You have no idea how messy it gets in there sometimes."

"...And I think I'll stay blissfully ignorant of that particular fact. Good game though." Silas said

"Yeah, see you later."

Chester walked away and turned the corner of the mess hall. Silas didn't bother to put the board away, but rather leaned back in his chair and light a cigarette, thankful for this one oasis of air conditioning he had in the midst of Hell's Gate.

When the door opened he flinched a little and turned to see who it was. It was always a good idea to look as busy as possible around officers.

But it wasn't an officer it was...

"...Dr. Augustine? What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"

Her response surprised Silas. Instead of telling him to mind his own damn business like he half expected her to say, she sat down opposite the chessboard.

"So, you play?"

Silas shrugged.

"A bit. Only started a few weeks ago."

The doctor began re-arranging the pieces into their starting positions.

"And why did you start?"

"My marksman instructor taught it to me. Helps me with focus and patience, or something like that."

Dr. Augustine continued to place pieces down on the board, forming the pawns into a neat row on their respective sides of the board.

"So you're a sniper, yes?"

"That is correct Ma'am."

She spun the board around so that Silas was playing white.

"What if I told you that you could be something more important than a sniper?"

"More important?"

"You came to Pandora because you wanted something more out of life, right?"

"Yeah..." Silas agreed hesitantly

"I saw you out there Silas, you're not an idiot, which is more than you can say for most of your compatriots."

"Uh, thanks, I guess...?"

"Incidentally, how did you know that Nemweypey did not mean me any harm by raising his voice? I know a dozen people who have been working at the native language their whole careers and haven't gotten that good."

Silas pushed a pawn two spaces forward.

"It was his eyes. He wasn't really glaring at you, if you know what I mean."

Dr. Augustine pushed her own pawn up with a forefinger.

"Exactly. The Na'vi's body language isn't all that different from ours, really, with the exception of the tail."

Silas moved his knight to cover the pawn.

"So you were saying?"

Augustine's rook slid its way out of the back of the board and sat in the middle, threateningly.

"I have a job opportunity for you, of sorts."

Silas slid a bishop down the length of the board, to see if she would take the bait and attack his pawn.

"I'm listening."

Dr. Augustine deftly moved the rook sideways and took out a different pawn in his line. Looking over his pieces, he realized he had nothing that could reach it.

"How would you like to come and teach the Na'vi with me."

For a moment, Silas forgot the game entirely and stared at the doctor as though she had grown wings.

"Teach? Well, I don't know, I never got a degree in teaching. Just-"

"-an associates degree in history, I know, I have access to all the dossiers." She finished for him

"Fat lot of good that slip of paper did me, look where I am now."

"You're in a position to make a difference, a real difference, and that's a hell of a lot more than most people get."

"Where is this school?"

"Outside the wire. You'd get to see this moon, and I mean really see it, up close and personal."

"Why me though?"

Dr. Augustine actually smiled at him, and Silas didn't know what was more unnerving, her being happy or angry.

"Because you have guts, and you're smart. That's all you really need."

Silas paused and scratched his chin, deep in thought.

"Look, I'll give you a day to think it over. If you want to do it, come over to the science bay at 01100 hours and I'll introduce you to your first student. If not, I'll never bother you again. Deal?"

She stuck out her hand and Silas found himself shaking it.

**(Constructive criticism is much appreciated.)**


	2. A Room Full of Mirrors

(Yeah, I promised a swift update, and no it didn't happen. Does that make me a liar? Technically yes, but I like to think that circumstances conspired against me, namely, incredibly intense writers block. If the initial meeting between Silas and his new student seems short, it is because I decided to cut my losses and forge ahead. I hope you can forgive me.)

Silas was standing outside the airlock to the science bay, a long corridor stretching behind him. His finger was an inch above the open button, and yet he hesitated. Thoughts were racing through his head. _Should I? Is it a good career move? What do the brass have to say about this?_

Above the tempest of argument that raged in his head he clearly heard the words Doctor Augustine had spoken to him yesterday and that he had lain awake all night thinking about. _**What if I told you that you could be something more important than a sniper?**_

He gritted his teeth and pressed the button. The airlock cycled open and a current of air made his pant legs flutter as it rushed past. There were a dozen data panels spread on desks across the room, casting a bright neon glow over the darkened room. In the center, crowded around a particularly large screen was Dr. Augustine and several technicians. She looked up when he walked in and smiled.

"So you've taken me up on my offer have you?"

Silas nodded.

"Good."

Without another word she escorted him through the room under the watchful eye of the technicians and into another, larger room. After seeing artificial light for the past few hours the sunlight streaming through the glass roof almost blinded him. When he regained his vision he found that they were now standing in an enormous greenhouse, and a heady aroma of foliage drifted through his nose.

"I thought the grow rooms would be a more natural setting for a meeting. Her name is Neytiri."

Silas was still digesting this information when they rounded a corner in the maze of plant-laden tables to see a single Na'vi examining a flower. She was tall and slim like a willow tree and a pair of bright eyes turned to regard him with interest. A large blue hand engulfed his and they shook.

"Uh, Good to meet you."

"And you as well." She replied, her voice heavy with accent.

* * *

Neytiri walked along the rough stone path that lead through the AVTR compound garden. The past few dozen days had been exciting milestones for her. At first his words had been halting, but now they were steady and confident. He described his home planet and the origins of his people. She had paid attention, certainly, but not for the reasons that the one called "Silas Whitfield" thought.

It was only one summer ago that her older sister had been killed by these encroaching aliens from the sky, and Neytiri was eager for Silas to finish his ancient history and begin describing battle tactics that could be used against them. Never would she forgive them, not a single one, _except Dr. Augustine_, a small part of her mind whispered softly. When the fiery human woman had offered her a chance to learn the history of the Sky People, Neytiri had jumped at it, fueled by a desire for eventual revenge, and, although she was loathe to admit it even to herself, by a deep set curiosity. Nothing in the long annals of their ancestors could have prepared them for these strange new beings.

Although at first Neytiri had convinced herself that she hated the lanky soldier that stood before her, after a few weeks of informal classes in which they had mostly sat out in the garden and talked back and forth, she had to concede that she harbored no ill will towards Silas. Whenever she had seen him around other humans, he seemed, quiet and reserved, but when he began to tell her about his race's past he seemed totally changed, eager to impart knowledge upon her, and to her own surprise, Neytiri found herself genuinely interested.

So today, Neytiri was especially excited, for two reasons. First, because Silas had asked that she meet him in a new place, which was the first time he had done so, and second, because he had promised to show her a great conflict, which was paramount to her original goal of finding out about the humans and their way of battle.

The path terminated in a door of solid grey metal, and she waited, hand on her hip, surveying the scenery around her. She jumped a little bit as the entry way slid open with a hiss and Silas stood waiting for her, an uncharacteristic smile curving one side of his face.

"Come on in."

She followed him into the pitch black beyond and felt a slight tinge of apprehension as the door closed behind her, leaving them in total darkness. Gradually the internal lights brightened and Neytiri saw that they were in a domed room. The walls seemed to shimmer oddly, and when she looked back at the way they had come in, the door was no longer there.

"Where are we?"

"This room is usually used for training exercises, but I got it booked for a whole day." Silas replied.

A black pillar ascended from the floor and he placed a small disc into a slot in it. The pillar retreated into the ground and the walls around them flashed a brilliant white. Neytiri shielded her eyes with her hand until the intense glare faded. What she saw when she lowered her hand made her gasp.

They were standing on the banks of a gently sloping grassy hill, only, it was unlike any hill she had ever seen. She looked around again and found that she could not see any of the previous room that they had been in.

"H-how did you...?"

Silas waved his hand

"How isn't important right now. This is History. Let's focus on what?"

Neytiri took a deep breath and calmed herself enough to take in her surroundings, which were more alien than her wildest dreams. The grass was short and uniform, the hill curving down gently to a sprawling collection of dwellings in the distance, which sat on the edge of a large forest that totally surrounded them. A small river ran through it.

"Is this your home? Is this Earth?"

He looked off into the distance for a moment before answering.

"Yes and no. This WAS Earth. Specifically, this was a place called the Ardennes, but this isn't what it looks like today. This is Earth a century and a half ago. But first, a little background. Walk with me."

She fell reluctantly in step beside him and they ascended the hill. It was a strange illusion. They walked for what seemed like five minutes. Just as she was about to ask him where they were going the hill crested and they stood at the top looking down.

"The leading government on my planet was called the United Nations, who by that point had a private army numbering in the millions. After the RDA ruined the water supply in this area with pollution, killed the trees and bleached the soil, almost ten thousand people gathered in protest in front of the plant. We had never been welcome in France, really. The RDA was incredibly unpopular, and there was a lot of rebel sympathy."

The terrain around Neytiri changed and she was again stunned. The sky grew grayer and the sunlight dimmed as the river shrunk to a trickle between two parched banks, the grass lifeless and yellow, the trees like a graveyard of gnarled brown branches, not a leaf to be seen anywhere. She now saw that they were standing in front of a huge metal structure, angular and massive, perched up on top of the hill. Soldiers surrounded them, arrayed in trenches and behind barbed wire.

Only a few hundred meters down the hill, a crowd of un-uniformed people stood, a wave of noise emanating from them. Glass bottles and rocks were being hurled at the soldiers, and every now and then a bullet whizzed past. Neytiri turned to her left and received another shock. The soldier standing next to them looked like...

"Yes, that's me." Silas said, a wry grin on his face.

Neytiri stared entranced at the holographic illusion. He looked younger, and lacked several scars that dotted the older Silas's visage. She reached out a hand in the midst of the chaos and attempted to touch him, but her palm simply fell right through and vanished.

"The crowd went nuts and started shooting. The militia members who had been hiding among the people charged up the hill. We were outnumber by sixteen to one. A single company of us, alone and with the UN hours away."

In the distance a roar went up from the crowd as they saw the first few waves of rebels assault up the smooth slope.

"Captain, what the fuck do we do now?" The younger Silas screamed, his gun shaking.

"Open fire, cut 'em down!" Came the order back

Neytiri gasped as the whole unit stared for one more second, and then turned back to the targets, sprinting up the hill and firing as they came, and depressed their triggers.

A wall of lead rained outwards towards the rebels, slaying men left and right. They fired back with rusted hunting rifles and outdated ammunition.

The rest of the crowd who were not armed fled in panic, a great human wave clamoring to get away. This left only the great tide of militia, sweeping up the hill, seemingly unaware of the massive casualties they were taking.

Even as the tip of the unit reached the top, Neytiri could see some of the men breaking, and turning to run. The younger Silas unloaded in every direction with his weapon, and she could see his face set with concentration and sheer terror.

The last few dozen men made it over the top and into the trenches, where they engaged in ruthless hand-to-hand combat, the battle as much a barroom brawl as a gunfight. When the dust settled, bodies littered the hillside. Neytiri could hear the shouts of the men still alive and the moans of the wounded.

"Corpsman! I need a Corpsman over here!"

"Set up a triage center inside!"

"Get command on the horn, those reinforcements better be here before nightfall or we're done for!"

And just like that, it all faded into grey, and they were once again standing in the domed room with the odd, shimmering walls. Neytiri found that her heart was beating a mile a minute. Try as she might, she could not remember anything that might have helped them to defeat the sky people. She felt suddenly foolish for assuming that such a conflict would be as simple as a contest. She voiced a burning question that had been in the back of her head.

"You fire on your own kin?"

Silas retrieved the disk from the black column and flicked off the lights, so that the only illumination was from the door to the garden at the far end of the room.

"We have had to make many painful decisions as a species. Pray the time does not come when you must do the same."

Not entirely satisfied with that answer, Neytiri reluctantly followed Silas to the exit.


	3. A Cream Colored Folder

**('Cuz you guys are just so awesome, I'm uploading the next two chapters ahead of schedule. Enjoy.)**

Grace watched the young sniper and the Na'vi deep in conversation, talking, even laughing, and smiled. She turned to see Jacob watching with a

frown on his face and sighed exasperatedly.

"They're bonding Jacob, lighten up."

"Why him? We had three other candidates for that student, all of them with actual degrees."

"I know."

She saw Jacob's jaw harden with frustration, but he kept his tone polite and quiet.

"Then why-"

"Because of this." Grace interrupted and placed a manila folder on his lap.

"What is this?"

"Open it."

Jacob opened the cover which was stamped with CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS/EYES ONLY in bold red writing.

"Jesus Grace, do I even want to read this? I don't want to get thrown in the brig."

"You won't, just read it."

Reluctantly, and with a bit of dread in his stomach, Jacob read the first page.

* * *

Resource Development Administration

Security Operations

Sector E

Clearance Level: Top Secret +

-OPERATION CLEARCUT-

Execution Date: -Expunged-

Operation Clearcut is now the accepted nonclemanture for the execution of two high value targets.

The native known as "Eytukan" is responsible for the political and military leadership of the Omaticaya Clan.

The native known as "Mo'at" is the spiritual leader for the Omaticaya Clan.

The deaths of these two individuals will bring down the central social pillar of the natives and leave them open to

agreement with the numerous offers put forth by the RDA for mining rights on the tract of land designated "Charlie Nine Three" on all noncom maps.

A two man sniper team is being selected to perform the assassination, and intelligence units are still gathering information on how and when to strike.

More information will be distributed among the networks as it arrives.

-Update-

I have made my evaluation of the candidates for shooter on Operation Clearcut, as Quaritch has requested, and the results are as follows:

After careful consideration of the combat records, skill set, and training history of all included profiles, I have come to the conclusion that the best candidate for the

position of shooter is Specialist Silas J. Whitfield, First Battalion, B company. Despite being a relatively new hire, he has proved himself ten times over, having near perfect marksman scores, an excellent disciplinary record, and a solid psychological profile.

My recommendation for spotter is Corporal Jeffery Stone, Third Battalion, A Company. This candidate is pretty green but per the Colonel's request for skill over experience, he was selected for his scores at the SecOps sniper training course.

* * *

Jacob found that his hands were trembling.

"They're planning to kill the tribal leaders?"

Grace nodded slowly, a look of grim sadness on her face.

"There isn't anything I can do about it. Quaritch and the military men have their minds made up, and they run this place. Our only chance to stop it is to sabotage his shooter."

The sheer cunning of the plan took Jacob aback.

"You really think it will work?"

"I don't know. That's why those three other candidates took a backseat to him. If he spends enough time with Neytiri, maybe he'll think twice before pulling the trigger."

Grace sighed and light a cigarette, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke drift up from her nostrils in grey spirals.

"Are you having fun yet Jacob?"


	4. A Frank Exchange of Views

"No, I can't do it any other way. If we don't take them out, there will be no capitulation. As long as they think they're safe, as long as they have leadership to

look to and leaders to agitate them, they'll never agree to leave."

Quaritch hated explaining things the civilians. Especially Parker Selfridge. The guy was not a good listener, and Quaritch's already short patience was wearing dangerously thin.

"So say we don't assassinate them, what would be our other course of action?"

Quaritch pounded his fist on the table.

"War, Mister Selfridge, all out war. It would be a goddamn slaughter and the press would eat us alive!"

_They had always tiptoed around the press_, Quaritch thought bitterly. Even with only a handful of journalists on Pandora, they had still managed to break the story about

the Sylwanin incident.

The whole reason the aggression between the locals and the humans had begun was due to that. Sylwanin was the eldest daughter of the chief, Eytukan, and a student at Dr. Augustine's school.

One fine morning, she had apparently woken up and decided it would be a good idea to get together some of her other blue friends and torch a bulldozer. They had fled the

scene of the crime, SecOps forces in hot pursuit, and tried to take shelter in Dr. Augustine's school.

The SecOps personnel had burst in and gunned them all down. After that, Quaritch had shut down the school and relations with the natives had turned nasty.

"Alright, alright, fine, you can go ahead with this... Operation Clearcut. But if this fucks up, Quaritch, if you bring more bad press down on this company, you will be scrubbing toilets

by the time I'm done with you."

Quaritch didn't say anything, and nodded instead. Although Selfridge didn't have the power to do something that drastic, it was better to let him pretend he did. The stocky

general stood and exited Selfridge's office, stepping out onto the bridge of the control tower and closing the door behind him. He pointed to a uniformed aide and barked "You,

get Specialist Whitfield and Corporal Stone up to the bridge on the double for their briefing, I don't care what they're doing right now."

The aide saluted and scurried off to do his bidding. Quaritch scratched his nose thoughtfully and looked out the large, bulletproof window at the helicopters landing and taking off.

Time to end this...


	5. A Date with Destiny

**(Early this morning I woke up to the sound of shattering glass. Assuming my house was being burglarized, I retrieved my 29 subcompact from the drawer and proceeded to sneak around my own house until I found that I had left the TV blasting the FX Channel **(A station wholly devoted to action movies)** before going to bed last night. Thank god for the privacy of my own home.)**

The harsh beeping of Silas's PDA woke him. Resisting the urge to smash the device and go back to sleep, he turned over and swung his feet out of bed. With one hand he reached for his sidearm and checked his messages with the other. What he saw made him immediately speed up.

Specialist Silas J. Whitfield will report to the command deck by no later than 0800. He will tell no one where he is going, and if asked by anyone with a pay grade E-12 or lower, will lie, by order of SecOps High Command regulation C~1156.9.

He wracked his brains to remember if he had done something bad enough to warrant such a summons, but nothing came to mind. Just as he finished strapping his shoulder holster on, the door to his room opened and a Private from another platoon peeked his head in.

"Hey Whitfield, a couple of the guys are going to lock Schmitty in the brig, you want to help?"

"Can't. Gotta..." He paused for a second while thinking of an excuse and the soldier rolled his eyes.

"Yeah I get it, you got to see a man about a horse, whatever."

"Nothing personal." Silas said ruefully

"Alright, I hear you, but you'll wish you hadn't missed it a couple days from now!"

"I'm sure."

The door closed and he could hear thumping footsteps and laughter. Silas waited until the sounds had faded and then exited his bunk, locking the door behind him. The halls were mostly empty as he walked through them, careful to take the long route around the brig. Finally he rounded a corner and spotted the orange striped airlock to the command deck. He jammed the button for the lift, but it was already engaged, so he sat and waited. When the lift got to his floor, the doors opened and a single brown-haired man in a wheelchair rolled out.

Or, he attempted to, but his wheels stuck firmly on the door divider. Silas watched him struggle for almost a minute before speaking up.

"You want some help man?"

The wheelchair bound man looked up, seemingly surprised to see someone else there.

"No thanks. I made it up, I can make it down."

He wheeled himself to the far end of the lift and then accelerated as fast as he could, the stainless steel rims bumping over the divider. He gave a mock salute and continued down the corridor out of sight.

Silas smiled to himself and entered the lift, which took off automatically. Anxiety began to build in his chest. Was he in trouble for last weeks lesson? He was sure that the brass wouldn't be happy if they learned he had showed the Le-Sur-Mer Massacre footage to the chief's daughter.

Although he was loathe to admit it, the sight of Earth, of a familiar place, had caused him to lie awake staring at the ceiling long after lights out. The questions he tried to suppress every day, to drown out with exercise and gunfire had all been knocked lose from the bottom of his mind and come floating to the surface like corpses. Questions like _What am I really doing here? What are my parents thinking right now? _and _What's changed in five years on earth?_

The floor indicator chimed a note, and he quickly drove the thoughts from his head. Now was not the time for doubt. He had made a choice, and not to see it through now meant he was weak. The doors slid open noiselessly and the hum and bustle of the bridge reached his ears.

Men and women in grey flight suits worked the monitors, and in the middle of it all stood Quaritch and a man whom Silas could not identify, looking intently at a holographic map of the surface of Pandora, and a large tree in particular. Quaritch looked up and saw Silas through the colorful display. To his surprise he cracked a grin and beckoned him over like an old friend, something which caught Silas a little off guard.

He walked over and gave a crisp salute, which Quaritch returned.

"Afternoon Specialist, glad you could make it. I'd like you to meet Corporal Jeffery Stone. He'll be your partner from now on."

The Colonel heaved a deep sigh and entered a key code into the projector unit. A new image resolved itself on the screen. Two Na'vi, elegantly decorated in bobs and bangles.

"You have both been selected for a very special assignment. I am laying a weight on your shoulders. We have eight months before the heavy digging equipment arrives, it is in transit as we speak. It will get here, whether the mining site is secure or not, and if it is not it will mean the end of profitability for this outpost, and probably the cancelation of our contract."

Quaritch scowled and gestured to the two ghostly pictures on display.

"The problem essentially boils down to these two... things. They are the ultimate tribal leaders, and all authority rests with them. We have three options on the table, gentlemen. First is diplomacy. I have an AVTR opperative embedded in the tribe, but honestly I don't think that will come to anything. Second, we have the large military garrison here on Pandora. Bringing that into play, however, would get us bad press up the wazoo. Imagine executing the last white elephant on live television, times several thousand."

"And the third option?" Silas asked, unable to contain himself.

Quaritch smiled at his eagerness.

"The third solution is a mix of the first two. Diplomatic violence. Cut off the head, and the body will wither and die. We-"

Quaritch paused, and then reconsidered.

"-I need you to kill these two."

Silas stared slightly open mouthed at the revolving figures on screen. The realization hit home.

Quaritch was asking, no, ordering him to kill Neytiri's parents.

"We can't insert you by helicopter, at least, not directly. You'll be taken up in the shuttle and dropped at five thousand feet. Parachutes open at one hundred fifty to minimize visibility on the way down. Once you're on the ground you'll set up across from the Home Tree and wait for a meeting of the elders to take place, which my contact has informed me takes place three days from now."

The Colonel pressed another button, and the images faded.

"I should warn you, this mission comes with a great degree of risk. If the natives think we murdered their tribal leaders, they will be martyred, and we'll never get them to move. Helicopters would be a big giveaway, so you'll have to exfiltrate on foot. I'm not making this an order. If you don't want to do it, I'll find someone else."

"That won't be necessary sir, I'm in." Corporal Stone said from across the table.

"Good. How about you Whitfield?"

Silas paused before answering, his hands clenched white behind his back. Finally, the answer was rung from him.

"I'll do it. Sir." He added.

Quaritch's smile seemed more relieved than grateful.

"Excellent, excellent, that's the kind of men I need out here! Now, report to the armory for your equipment, and your new security classifications, double time."

They both saluted and turned to leave, but Quaritch called out to Silas as he was about to step into the lift.

"And Specialist? Consider your time with Doctor Augustine terminated, effective immediately. We need warriors, not teachers."


	6. A Hard Landing

**(-and his mother cried as he walked out, Don't take your guns to town, son, leave your guns at home-)**

Silas ran the rag over his weapon, once, twice, three times. The polished gunmetal shone in the harsh light of the armory. Twelve hours. They had given him twelve hours until he had to get on the shuttle and begin the mission. Their assignment was close to suicide. Na'vi were the best trackers anywhere, period. They could pick up a scrap of fern out of place from a dozen yards away and could cover that distance on foot in a matter of seconds.

But still, he had taken an oath. Even now the words spoken to the recruiter echoed from memory.

I hereby affirm that I, Silas J. Whitfield will serve and protect the interests and assets of the Resource Development Administration and its affiliates and subsidiaries to the best of my abilities, until relieved of duty by an authorized officer or death.

The rifle in his lap was a Raytheon Model 99 "Sabre" Caseless Marksman Rifle. It was built from a surprisingly light polymer and had an integral electronic sighting system. He set the gun aside and reached for his armor. Normally they would be deployed with a full electronics and protection system, but for this mission, stealth was paramount. A plate carrier with a pair of thin ceramic inserts was all that shielded them from hostile arrows. Over that went a woven wool mesh containing local plant matter. The Mark V Ghillie Suit (Pandoran Model) made them look like walking chunks of the undergrowth, trolls from some ancient European fable.

He took a look across the loading bay at Corporal Stone, who was making an obviously painful decision over which spotter scope to take. If Silas had had any misgivings about working with this man, they would have to be brushed aside. Usually Sniper-Spotter teams trained together since basic, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

With some effort he donned his apparel and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He had always felt more comfortable in full battle rattle. Safe, protected, like a security blanket. All his problems were simplified into two categories: Shoot, don't shoot. Now even that filter was being torn away. He still had not worked out what he was going to do, if anything.

Neytiri was a native, an indigenous, and also at this point the enemy. But at the same time he couldn't simply block out the things they had shared, hard though he tried. He was jerked out of his reverie by Stone.

"Hey, the crew chief says the launch schedule has been moved up. We're leaving in five minutes."

_Five minutes _Silas mused _all the time in the world_

_

* * *

_The shuttle bay was silent as a tomb, save for the insistent crackle of the radio.

"Control, this is Grey Goose, we are approaching the drop zone, ETA is one mike, how copy over?"

"Control copies Grey Goose, be advised, the sun is setting a little slower than Pathfinder expected, there will still be daylight on the AO. Interrogative: Do you want to proceed or do another pass, over?"

The crew chief stuck his head out of the cockpit.

"Well guys? You fine dropping in daylight?"

Silas nodded.

"Once we get on the ground it won't be a problem."

The crew chief returned to the radio

"That is an affirmative Control, drop is imminent, contact you at mission plus one minute, Grey Goose, over and out."

Silas and Jeffery stood and slipped on their parachute packs. Above them, a red light winked on.

"Thirty seconds, pilot, lower the ramp!" The crew chief yelled.

The back end of the shuttle opened up and the wind howled into the cargo bay. Above him, the light changed to yellow and a screen flashed a countdown.

Five, four, three, two, one... Green.

"Go, go, go!" The crew chief bellowed over the cacophony.

Silas sprinted to the edge of the deck and hurled himself face first from the plane. Wind whistled through his hair and over his exopack, numbing his gloved hands. A shadow passed over him and he saw his spotter giving him the thumbs up. They both flattened their hands to their sides and dived down, down, down, into the abyss of green, the fading sunlight burning bright in their eyes.

The ground rushed up to meet them and a beeping in his ear signaled that it was time to activate his parachute. He pulled the cord hard and had the wind summarily knocked from him as he decelerated from 130 miles an hour to 7 in three seconds flat. Branches whipped his face as he descended, and finnaly a large trunk snagged his parachute. He was stuck.

Reaching to his should he unsheathed his jungle knife and cut the straps one by one. He paused at the last one, looking down to the forest floor. It was a long ways...

The last strap, unable to hold his weight any longer, snapped without warning and he went tumbling to the ground, tossing his knife wide to avoid being impaled on it. After retrieving the blade and dusting himself off, he checked his tracking beacon. What he saw stopped him cold.

* * *

Corporal Jeffery Stone was in a metric shit-ton of trouble, and he knew it. The little black animals gathered around his dangling feet, jumping to try and dislodge him from his harness. His suppressed pistol coughed again and again, felling one here, one there, but it wasn't nearly enough. For every one he killed, two more rushed to join the frenzy.

In a panic he keyed his mic, transmitting on open channel.

"Jesus Christ Silas, get to my position now, I'm down about 150 yards from you to the east, and I am surrounding by these- THINGS! HELP ME!"


	7. A Moonlight Stalk

(A/N: Unlike most of my fics, this one has a defined end, and it probably won't get longer than ten chapters. But fear not gentle citizens, I have another Avatar fic that is much longer, called Stranded. As the author, my opinion on it is biased, but I can at least tell you that if you enjoyed this one, you'll probably like that one. Plus it's got ~600% more action and romance by weight, which is good for you drama junkies out there (myself included). So yeah, shameless self promotion aside, here's a freshly baked chapter. Watch out, it's still hot.)

Silas crashed through the underbrush, all semblance of stealth forgotten. He could hear Corporal Stone's yells clearly now, growing closer by the second. Suddenly he burst though a thick wall of vines and into a clearing. Jeffery was desperately trying to scrabble higher up the massive tree trunk while simultaneously fending off the six legged terrors below. Thinking quickly, Silas grabbed a flare from his pack, light it, and tossed it into the middle of the group. There was a general baying and howling as the torch scattered the creatures. They jumped over each other and ran right past Silas, unseeing in their panic.

Silas ran forward and put out the torch, while a relieved Corporal Stone detached from his parachute and thudded to the forest floor. He laid a hand on Silas's shoulder and seemed at a loss for words. Silas brushed him away.

"Talk later. We need to get the hell out of here before-"

A crackling noise in the brush made them both freeze. For a whole minute they stood stock still listening.

"Probably nothing." Jeffery whispered, but Silas shushed him

They heard the noise again, this time closer, and then again. In unison the two soldiers silently snuck backwards into the forest. Just as they made it into the leafy concealment of the jungle, two figures materialized from the edge of the clearing. Both of them were ten feet tall and covered in war paint. One of them held a strung bow, and both looked tense.

Nemweypey examined the area around the massive tree closely. Something was very wrong here. A massive billowing mass was caught in the tree, fluttering gently in the breeze.

"This is not right. The Nantang never stop when they have their prey cornered. This is sky people devilry."

"Look at the scorch marks! They could have burnt the whole forest down!"

Nemweypey saw something move out of the corner of his eye and whirled around.

"What is it?" His mate queried

Nemweypey shook his head and stalked closer. He stepped through the edge of the clearing and looked around, but there was nothing there.

_I am a rock. I am a stone. I am a piece of scenery. _Silas thought to himself over and over as he stared at the ankle of the Na'vi warrior, inches from him. He dared not breath, lest the warmth alert the creature. Across from him, Corporal Stone's face was a pale shade of white underneath the camouflage face paint.

The warrior waited for a few moments, and then walked back into the clearing, his foot grazing the edge of Silas's ghillie suit. Every instinct in his body screamed at him at once.

_Run. Fight. Kill._

He hid his shaking hands beneath his chest, and after a few minutes of barely controlled panic, the pair of Na'vi melted back into the forest.

For a whole hour the pair waited, silent and still. Around them the forest came alive with a glow of bioluminescence. Finally, Silas pushed himself to his feet. Corporal Stone looked shaken, but did not break noise discipline again.

With a beating heart and unsteady feet the two of them set off for their objective.

Time seemed to have frozen, Silas thought, as they crept silently over a massive felled log, their boots scraping the slippery moss. Time was an asbtract concept that they had parted ways with on the jump in. He didn't know how many hours they had been walking and he dared not guess. He consoled himself with the knowledge that their final sniping position, a grassy thicket overlooking the home tree and it's basin of roots, was only a few hundred meters away. He could actually see it, through the thick brush ahead of him.

The only indication of how long they had been marching was the soft glow of Alpha Centuri AB resting just below the horizon. It was dusk, and the bioluminescence was fading fast. They crossed a small creek, splashing between massive grey stone boulders, and finally crouched on the edge of their objective. Both of them went prone and slowly crawled into the thick grass, parting it gently to see down into the depression below them.

With great care, Silas unsnapped the bipod and set up his marksman rifle. Corporal Stone staked his high power spotter scope into the loamy soil next to him and began measuring ranges. Four things determined how the two would stand out. Four concepts drilled into them from day one of sniper training. Shape, Shine, Color, and Contrast.

With his free hand Silas unsheathed his blade and cut some of the grass to lay over the top of them, totally obscuring the nest from view. They were just another part of the thicket.

"And now we wait..." Silas murmured under his breath

And they did, for three more hours, unmoving, unblinking. A silent presence. The doubts that had plagued his mind on the journey in threatened to rise to the surface again. He still had no idea if he could bring himself to assassinate his pupils father.

The average foot soldier's work was an impersonal business. The enemy was a shape in the distance, an indistinct figure on the far end of the battlefield. The grunt's bullet had "To Whom It May Concern" stamped upon it, whereas the sniper's bullet had his enemies name engraved on it by hand, with loving care and attention to detail. Sniping was very, very personal. In the minutes and hours leading up to a shot you really felt you knew the target. His personality, his laugh, his smile, his likes and dislikes. Sniping required discipline. How much, however, was something Silas was going to find out soon enough.


	8. A Shot to Remember

Corporal Jeffery Stone reached a hand out to adjust the knob on his spotter's scope with exaggerated slowness. Silas looked down the sight of his marksman rifle and checked the bipod clamps one more time. The meeting was already underway. Several ranking tribesman sat in a semicircle, but their talk was idle, and to each other. They were waiting for someone.

That someone stepped unexpectedly into their line of sight. A spurt of adrenaline jumped into Silas's stomach, and next to him he could hear his spotter's breathing increase incrementally.

"Call it out." He whispered.

"Target sighted, sector bravo, deep, five hundred fifty yards. Wind is three quarter value, moving west to east. Left two, up one."

"Adjusting" Silas replied.

The question still burned in the deepest corners of his mind as he coldly adjusted the sight on his rifle. Shoot?

The realization dawned on him as he flicked the selector switch to fire. There had really never been a question, or, it had only existed in his head. The question, he realized, had already been answered. He had envisioned himself refusing to fire or getting lost intentionally in the forest, but yet here he was, seconds from the kill.

He had not come this far to fail. It was too late for any misgivings. His crosshairs settled gently on the old Na'vi's head.

"On scope."

"Fire." Came the command from his spotter.

The trigger came smoothly backwards under his finger and the rifle jerked in his hands.

(A/N: That's right, I'm a cliffhanging bastard. Next update will end the story, hopefully soon, trying to juggle a lot of things at the moment.)


	9. A Pinch of Madness, The Curtain Call

Grace took the steps down to the brig two at a time. Her heart was racing, for more reasons than one. She had only caught a glimpse of Silas in handcuffs being dragged past her office, but she knew something was wrong. The guard at the door looked over her ID and nonchalantly waved her through to the first cell block. The hall was dimly light, and most of the rooms were empty. The one at the end, however, was obviously occupied.

Silas had his head between his knees and did not look up when she entered. She sat on his hard metal bunk along the wall and folded her legs, waiting for him to speak first. It was a long time before he opened his mouth, still not making eye contact with her.

"I missed."

Questions were racing through her head at a mile a minute but she tried to seem calm.

"Then why did they put you in here?"

"Because I missed on purpose."

Conflicting emotions were added to the mix. A sense of relief, achievement, she had attained her goal, even though she thought it to be impossible herself. How long this would ensure the Na'vi's safety however, was uncertain. But this pride was tainted by a sense of guilt. She had put an innocent man in jail, probably ruined the rest of his life.

"Was it worth it?" Silas asked.

"Was what worth it?" Grace replied, playing coy.

The young soldier looked up finally from his hands and she was shocked. He seemed haggard, years older. His hair was an unkempt mess and there were lines under his eyes that she hadn't seen before. The little gremlin of guilt gnawed harder.

"Soldiering was the only thing I was ever good at, really good at, and you took it away. I'm asking you, was it worth it? It had better be Grace. These blue things had better invent a cure for cancer, because I am not going to get my life back."

Dr. Augustine considered the question for a moment, and then gave the honest answer.

"Yes. It was worth it."

To her surprise, Silas smiled. It was not a smile of mirth however.

* * *

Private Terrance Fisher glanced back into the cell block to check on the prisoner and his visitor and received a nasty surprise. There was no one there. He cycled open the air lock and sprinted down the corridor, weapon raised.

The fist came out of nowhere, smashing into his temple and snuffing him out like a candle flame in the wind. Dr. Augustine was curled in a corner, shaking as Silas reached down and retrieved the guard's weapon.

"A mark six CARB caseless automatic weapon, variable rate of fire." He intoned.

"Please Silas, I'm sorry..." Grace whispered through her fingers. She had no intention of dying here, at the hands of some grunt.

Silas chuckled and worked the action once, pointing the weapon at her.

"Save your breath, you'll only die tired."

At that moment the door burst open and three more marines pounded onto the cell block floor, screaming at the psychotic soldier to drop his weapon.

For the rest of her life, Grace would see the scene in slow motion. Silas turning, an animal snarl on his face, and the soldiers raising their weapons and firing. The sound of glass shattering and the distinct thump of a body hitting the metal floor, the profound silence afterwards only penetrated by the dripping of blood through the ventilation grate.

* * *

Corporal Izner pulled the next body bag out of the morgue cart and examined the tags.

"Holy shit JC, come look at this, it's him!"

"It's who?" His compatriot queried from across the medical bay, arms deep in an autopsy.

"That sniper who went section 8, knocked out Fisher!"

"No shit?

"No shit."

"I guess it's your lucky day."

"Must be." Izner chuckled.

He examined the attached dossier and read the single word scrawled across the front cover.

**CREMATION  
**

"To the bonfire it is..."

He wheeled the cart over to the incinerator entrance and unceremoniously pushed the cardboard box containing Specialist Whitfield's body into the chute, a brief burst of warm foul smelling smoke making him cough and cover his nose with his shirt. He snapped a brief, ironic salute, and continued on to the next body.

(A/N: Don't look at me like that, there's no way this thing could have turned out well for him. If you think this sucked and you want to read something not nearly as depressing, then my other Avatar fic Stranded is a lot more lighthearted. But as for this story, I'm afraid that's all I have the energy to complete. See you all later compadres, thanks for sticking with me to the bitter end.)


End file.
